


You're Mine (And I'll Prove It)

by MoMoMomma



Series: Kinktober 2018 [26]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Dubious Consent, Frottage, Hand Feeding, Humiliation, M/M, Public Claiming, Public Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 17:22:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16433651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoMoMomma/pseuds/MoMoMomma
Summary: “What are you doing?” Rook asks quietly, watching Jacob stand in the open doors of the cage.“Rewarding you,” Jacob says simply, reaching down to haul him up by the tattered and filthy remains of his shirt.





	You're Mine (And I'll Prove It)

“Don’t you look a fucking sight.”

Rook tries to ignore Jacob. He always tries and he’s rarely, very rarely, successful. Something about Jacob demands his attention, the timbre of his voice and the way he gets closer to the cage than any of the others. The praise that rings in Rook’s head after huntkillcull. A part of him hates Jacob, wants him dead alongside most of this fucking cult.

Another part...another part doesn’t. And Rook’s not sure which part he hates more. What Jacob has made him or what Jacob _might_ make him. 

“You must be exhausted.” Jacob clicks his tongue against his teeth, almost overshadowing the click and snap of the lock coming off. “You did so well. I hardly had to scold you at all. You’re adjusting.”

“What are you doing?” Rook asks quietly, watching Jacob stand in the open doors of the cage.

A test? A taunt? He doesn’t have the energy to do anything and, even if he did, he’s not sure he would. Not like this. Not filthy and famished and so goddamn thirsty swallowing hurts.

“Rewarding you,” Jacob says simply, reaching down to haul him up by the tattered and filthy remains of his shirt. 

Rook follows because what the hell else is he expected to do? Jacob at his front, fist clenched in his shirt like it’s some makeshift leash. His Chosen behind, at least three going by the footsteps, and probably armed to the teeth. 

Too many threats. Too many things to consider. Even with the wail of “Only You” in his ears, he wouldn’t be able to take them all out. 

Rook’s terrified to consider the inner reluctance, even just thinking about it, of hurting Jacob at all. 

He’s taken to some sort of communal shower, or so it appears. A few of Jacob’s men are there, already undressed under the spray, chatting idly amongst themselves. It all stops when they appear in the doorway, something so much like a movie scene it almost makes Rook laugh. Jacob guides him over, the Chosen--three of them, so he’s not totally out of his mind--standing in front of the now closed door. 

Rook’s shoved under one of the spouts, staring up at it blankly before turning to look at Jacob, who’s backed up just a bit. To the middle portion that doesn’t seem to be getting wet. Arms crossed with an expectant look on his face.

“Strip.”

Rook considers saying no. Considers telling Jacob to go fuck himself. But he’s disgusting and the prospect of being clean…

If he’s lucky and smart and fast, he might even be able to drink from the showerhead. Two needs met at once. 

He compiles, slowly enough that he doesn’t seem eager but not so slowly he risks pissing Jacob off. Leaves his clothes in a pile near his feet, hoping maybe the coalescing of water near the drain might wash them. The shower comes on in a burst of cold, one so shocking it takes Rook’s breath and makes him claw at the spigot, turning it towards the faded red symbol on one side.

The water turning warm is actually something of a shock. He wouldn’t put it past Jacob to demand his people bath in ice water. Probably fed some bullshit lie about it “making them stronger.”

Rook gets halfway through washing his hair, tipping his head upwards and covertly swallowing as much water as he can, before Jacob clears his throat. His shoulders sink instantly, curling in protectively as he glances over his shoulder. 

What the fuck. Why are there _more_ people in the shower now?

“You’re my prized project,” Jacob tells him with a wicked grin hiding in his beard. “Come on, Rook. Turn around. I’m sure everyone here is eager to see what true compliance and strength looks like.”

Strength. Rook almost snorts. He’s gained muscle mass, sure, because Jacob’s been running him like a dog. But it’s all striated, no fat left, starved out of him by what little rations he’s given to complete his “training.” But he’s not stupid enough to disobey a direct order, not in front of so many.

Strange how logically he’s started thinking about this. Surviving Jacob’s hold has become something like a game, weighing each decision like it’s a survival game, like the ones he used to waste time on his Xbox with before…

Before everything, really.

He turns, folds his hands over in front of his hips, and flinches slightly when Jacob’s eyes drop. Like he was expecting it. Like he was _waiting_ for it.

“Oh, no, that won’t do. Hiding something makes you distrustful. Makes people wonder what else you’re hiding.” Jacob tsks, shakes his head like he’s disappointed. “Might make some think you’re still _sinful_. Weak.”

“I don’t--”

Jacob shushes him, waves a hand, and a Chosen is instantly at his side. Rook tries not to stare too longingly at the plate of food he passes to Jacob, little cuts of meat, cheese, some fruits and what look like crackers. Something that before Rook would’ve devoured at a restaurant, a nice appetizer to his meal. Now it looks like a full course meal and he has to grind his teeth together to keep from drooling.

Just like one of Jacob’s fucking dogs. 

“Hands at your sides, Deputy.” 

Rook moves, slides his hands away from the soft length of his cock, but doesn’t obey. Not fully, anyhow. Raises his hands instead to scrape his nails against his biceps, washing away the dirt and blood under the still falling spray. Jacob notices, he sees a light go on in his eyes, but he doesn’t immediately backhand Rook for the insubordination.

Instead, he steps forward, just out from the spray, maybe a foot or so between them, and holds out a slice of apple. Fresh, from the looks of it, and thick. There’s something inherently evil in his eyes as he purrs out a “good boy. Here.”

Rook knows better than to try and reach for it but he does anyway. Only to meet thin air when Jacob pulls it away with another click of his tongue. Rook lets his hand fall, going back to absently scrubbing at his skin almost in habit now.

“No, no. Your hands have a better task. Don’t want to keep them occupied.” Jacob voice shifts, lowers, deepens slightly and Rook tries to ignore the way it makes his cock twitch. “Open your mouth.”

He doesn’t want to. Well, he wants to, but only if it means biting off one of Jacob’s fingers. But the food looks so good and he’s so fucking hungry. 

Rook tries to scrub around his hips, hide the fact that his traitorous cock is responding to Jacob’s pleased little hums and soft murmurs of “that’s right. Good pup.” He finishes off the apples on the plate, one after another, delivered by Jacob’s hand onto his tongue, fingers dragged back before Rook’s teeth can snap around them.

Until he tries for a piece of cheese, smaller, not nearly as much room between food and finger. Rook’s teeth clamp around soft cheese and rough, calloused flesh for a split second before Jacob tears his hand away and smacks it against Rook’s cheek.

It hurts his pride more than anything, cheeks flaming at the amused whispers and outright chuckles some of the others in the shower let out. Rook fists his hands at his side, clean now but still feeling filthy as Jacob looks him up and down. 

“Bad dog.” He says slowly, a grin curving his mouth as some of his Chosen join the hushed laughter. “Turn off the water and come here.”

Rook hesitates just long enough for the single impatient tap of Jacob’s boot against the tile, twisting the spigot until the water stops and mourning its absence almost immediately. It’s not cold in the shower room, though he wishes it were. But it’s not nearly hot enough to create any sort of fog and everyone can see his cock when he turns back, stiff at his hips.

Because Rook’s apparently out of his fucking mind. And Jacob’s little smiles and pleased noises hit him hard, a drop in his gut that spread warmth along his hips. He doesn’t _want_ to be hard, has never prayed for impotence more than he is in this very second, eyes squeezing closed as Jacob coos something vicious and soft.

“Aw, pup, you getting worked up? Hand feeding laughs.

“Y’know, pup, I always liked you. Always liked that fire in your eyes, your spirit. It made you weak but it made you _strong_.” Jacob cups his chin with his free hand, leans down, fingers biting into Rook’s jaw as he grins. “I made you stronger. Don’t forget that.”

He doesn’t get a chance to bite again. He’s fed most of the plate, Jacob’s hand on his jaw an obstacle to chewing let alone snapping his teeth closed with enough pressure to bite. His cheeks only grow hotter, ebbed on by the pointed looks and whispers while eyes track down to his hips. He’s hard, getting harder by the second until it hurts, and Rook doesn’t _understand_.

“Why?” He finally asks Jacob during a pause, Jacob tipping his head from the plate, where he’d been perusing the next bite, to arch a brow. “Why are you...doing this?”

“Because I own you. And because being owned isn’t always a bad thing.” Jacob nudges his leg forward, pointedly, and Rook can’t fight the guttural groan when the rough material of his jeans brushes too-sensitive skin. “The Resistance is so proud of you, touts you as this savior. I want my people to know who really owns you. What you really are at the end of the day.”

Another nudge. This time firmer, Jacob’s foot planted in between his spread legs, Rook’s fingers claws where jeans are tucked into his boot. He rocks his hips forwards, opens his mouth, can barely breathe enough to chew when Jacob nudges him mid-way through a bite. 

Mindless. Focused. Survival and Stockholm Syndrome in one. Jacob isn’t hurting him, not really. Maybe...Maybe if he’s good, maybe if he pretends to be good...he can have more of this. More food and more showers and more...touch. Touch that isn’t hurtful, doesn’t come with bloodlust intentions. 

“We know what you are now, though, don’t we?” Jacob raises his voice just a little but doesn't look away from Rook as he starts to shake apart, humping Jacob’s leg like a fucking dog.

“W-What--what am--” Rook can’t get a sentence out, voice shaking and raw, head dipping as he starts to come only to be dragged up by Jacob’s hold on his chin.

“Aw, sweetness, don’t you know? You’re _mine_.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is totally un-beta'd because I'm tired as hell and my brain is refusing to read it over, if you see any mistakes feel free to let me know! Also, don't forget to check [this post](http://momomomma2.tumblr.com/post/178633371556/happy-kinktober) for previous Kinktober fills!


End file.
